Chapter 15

Julian wasn't sure which he found most attractive about Tessa.

Her fearlessness…

Her arrogance…

Her utter indifference to the opinion of the many…

Her attractive qualities competed for best as she stood planted before him. Her eyes shone bright, her cheeks flushed, her rather bounteous bosom heaving and making a minor spectacle of itself for all the gathered to see and, frankly, admire.

Here was a woman who didn't give a toss about these gentlemen clamoring around, waggling their eyebrows and pulling comic faces like schoolboys. The look in her steady eyes said they could stuff their nonsense straight up their collective bum.

It should have annoyed him. After all, there were rules, and the rules stated that ladies keep away from the card room. Of course, some ladies insisted on being exceptions to that rule. Widows…married ladies…All ladies of a certain character—untamable in the eyes of society.

Tessa was neither married nor a widow, but she might well be untamable.

And it was that last quality that he found most attractive.

That made him want to claim her.

That made him want to leg it to the Thames and jump into the river and let it wash away the wild impulses the woman inspired within him.

"May I be of assistance to you, Lady Tessa?" he asked, smiling amiably and playing the marquess the gentlemen in this room expected.

She didn't waver. "You and I have a debt to settle, my lord."

She wasn't in for a penny.

She was in for a pound.

His body registered the double entendre before his mind caught up to it, but that split of a second was all his cock needed to fill to half-staff.

His smile broadened, even as his eyes narrowed. "The debt has been forgiven." The words emerged more tightly than he would've liked, and she would've detected as much.

The gossipy buzz of the room quieted to a low murmur, curious ears attuned to the entertainment being provided by the Marquess of Ormonde and Lady Tessa Calthorp, and all Julian could think was he'd brought this upon himself.

He'd underestimated Tessa.

Of course, she would follow him into the card room and create a scene.

Her gaze steady and cool, she gave a slow shake of the head. "The possibility of debt forgiveness wasn't laid out in the original terms."

She wasn't letting him off the hook.

His amiability didn't slip a hair. "Consider it a gift, then."

He was all magnanimous marquess. How could she possibly refuse in the face of such lordly generosity?

Yet he knew without a doubt, she would.

And that certainty sent such a hard throb of anticipation spiking through him, he nearly lost his breath.

"Perhaps," she said, "this discussion would be better settled in private."

A few beats of stunned silence loped past before a voice three sheets to the wind rang out, "Oh, it's off to the naughty chair with you, Ormonde!" And the room broke free of its tension and into riots of relieved laughter, guffaws, and whistles.

However, Julian and Tessa remained unmoved, their eyes only breaking contact when she pivoted and began striding away, the gentlemen happily clearing a path for this woman on a mission, if only to be rid of her. Julian was to follow, of course, and he caught several rueful, sympathetic shakes of the head and jocular pats on the back as he did so, a man nobly walking the plank so many men in this room had trodden before him.

He'd thought she would lead him into the ballroom, perhaps to a quiet alcove. But, no, she led him straight through that happy chaos without a single backward glance.

She knew he followed.

Across an empty foyer, they strode. It would have been a private enough location for a discussion regarding the settlement of a gambling debt.

But still they walked on.

Down an even quieter corridor, the roar of the ballroom and the buoyant strains of music fast fading, they continued, ignoring the paired off couples stealing a private moment for themselves. Julian only caught them from the corner of his eye, having no inclination toward gossip, his attention solely for the woman leading the way.

Up a set of stairs, she ascended, her hips a subtle sway, the moonlight streaming through the skylight above setting the silk of her gown alight in shimmery lilac ripples.

Here, there was no one else.

Only them.

She hesitated at a door at the far end of another corridor, grabbed the handle, and pushed it open. Beyond the doorway, Julian's eyes were magnetically drawn to a single piece of furniture—the bed.

She'd led him to a bedroom for the settlement of their wager.

A slick of sweat pinpricked his palms.

Lady Tessa was playing dirty.

"Won't someone be needing this room tonight?" he asked. It was worth a try, anyway.

"As it happens, this bedroom is mine."

He felt his brow knit. "Have you given up your Knightsbridge townhouse?"

Disappointment pinged through him. He rather liked her independent streak and didn't want to see her give it up.

Also, it had to be admitted, he rather liked that he could happen down Sloane Street and knock on her door at any time and she would likely let him in.

That wasn't a possibility at the ducal mansion.

Rules would apply here.

She shook her head. "This room has been designated mine if I ever choose to use it."

Ridiculous relief struck through him. "Ah."

"I'd never thought to have a use for it," she continued, propping a shoulder against a bedpost, "But tonight…"

She allowed the sentence to finish itself in the quiet air between them.

Tonight…There was a use for it.

Right.

"Tonight, you and I aren't leaving this room until we've settled our wager." A beat. "To my satisfaction."

A supremely wrong impulse had a supremely wrong question leaving his mouth…"Have I ever left you unsatisfied?"

Her head canted, and her eyes narrowed. "That's a very interesting question with a very complex answer."

Blast.

This conversation was careening toward the edge of a cliff. He didn't want this woman's complex answers.

Or he wanted them too much.

Either way, simplicity was his only hope. "The twenty thousand pounds is yours."

"But I lost the wager."

"I'll have it delivered to your townhouse by noon tomorrow."

"Let me see if I have this straight." Her head canted quizzically. "You would rather pay me twenty thousand pounds than bed me?"

Most men would pay this woman twenty thousand pounds to bed her.

But he couldn't tell her that.

It was a wrong thought on many levels.

She wasn't finished. "Should I be insulted?"

The metallic tang of danger scented the air.

The truth was he would give up everything to bed her—titles…lands…wealth…his fleetest yearling…everything.

Except that isn't quite true, is it?asked a small voice.

What he understood her to be asking for, he couldn't give.

And it wasn't a matter of choice.

"Why don't you court ladies?" she asked. The brightness of her eyes told him she sensed the danger, too—and insisted on striding into the thick of it.

"I don't see any logic in it."

"Why is that?"

"Because I would only be leading them on." He considered leaving it at that. He didn't owe her more. Yet…"I don't intend to marry."

Tessa's brow crinkled. "You don't intend to marry?"

He shook his head.

"But you're one of the most eligible lords in society."

He spread his hands wide, a man helpless to the facts. "Even so."

She pushed off the bedpost in a burst of unconcealed irritation. Lady Tessa wasn't accustomed to being thwarted, and she liked it not one bit.

She began pacing about a bit, deep in thought, and Julian used the opportunity to settle into a chair and observe this utterly unladylike woman, with the elegance of her movement and her long stride and indifference to how she appeared. Yet, still, she was all woman—her curves undisguised by shimmering silk, hair tumbling about her shoulders, golden tips spiraling into curls. This woman hadn't the faintest idea how feminine she was.

How exquisite.

At last, she stopped and planted herself in the center of the room, facing him. Her eyes said she'd arrived at a conclusion. Tension grabbed Julian's breath and refused to release it.

"No," she said.

"No?"

She shook her head. "That won't do."

A second later, a laugh of disbelief burst from him. The audacity of this woman.

"You'll have to do better." Not the scantest hint of a smile played about her mouth. The woman was dead serious.

And Julian understood.

He would have to give her a truth. Not all of it, but a morsel—and hope it would be enough to satisfy her.

"My past," he said.

"We all have a past," she retorted.

It was then that he saw it.

Within her eyes shone knowledge.

"You know of my past."

It wasn't a question, but a confirmation.

Her head canted. "Not yours so much, but some of your family's."

Such gossip would be easily come by, as the broad strokes of the tragic House of Ormonde would be known to all.

"There isn't one without the other," he said.

Another truth.

She nodded, and he saw not only understanding but something more—connection. The feeling vibrated through him to the marrow of his bones—connection to this woman. He'd felt it from their very first conversation, and it shook and rattled him, even as it made it impossible to stay away from her.

"That is true." She believed those words, for this woman didn't speak words she doubted.

He felt understood.

Dangerous…It was dangerous to feel this way—to let such feeling sink below the surface and warm him. He might want more of that warmth…

Then what?

"Still," she continued, "you haven't answered my question. Why don't you court ladies?"

"You'll just have to settle for the answer I've given."

Mutiny shone in her eyes. She wasn't about to settle.

And Julian saw he had no choice…

But to seduce her.

Distraction had succeeded before.

Why not again?

He pushed to his feet. The shift of her body wouldn't have been noticeable if he hadn't been watching her so closely. She'd tensed. It was subtle, but there in the set of her shoulders.

He detected something more, too, within the flare of her pupils—desire.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Don't you know by now?"

He took another step closer.

She tried for indignation. "You would rather seduce me than answer my questions?"

He snorted, and a smile curled one side of his mouth.

She tried for outrage. "You simply can't seduce your way out of this."

The thing about her indignation and outrage was it rang hollow. Not even she believed a word of it.

Desire for what he offered was too strong a pull.

"Can't I?"

So close he could pick up her scent of crisp lemon, he reached out and cupped the nape of her neck, the fine hair silky against his calloused palm, before angling his head so his mouth met the sensitive skin of her neck. A breathless sigh escaped her parted lips, whispering her responding desire into his ear. His other hand found the indent of her waist, wrapping around to the small of her back, a simple contraction of muscle bringing her body, all lush curves, into his. The feel of her against him—all feminine woman.

The tetchy sense of danger fell away in the inevitability of this seduction. This—Tessa in his arms…being seduced by him—he understood. This sparking of desire into a full-on conflagration of lust…of pleasuring her…of making her cry out in climax. In the seduction of Tessa lay control and safety.

This was what he knew—and what she wanted.

He removed one silk glove, then the other, stealing a kiss on the pink mole on the underside of her arm. Next, his fingers were unbuttoning her dress. It fell to the floor in a silken shush, leaving her clad in chemise, stays, stockings, and pearls—all delectable woman.

He cupped heavy breasts and sucked nipples through gossamer muslin chemise. A tremble of desire rippled through her. Without breaking contact, he eased her backward until they reached the bed, with a single intention—to pleasure this woman to within an inch of her life.

Then he felt them—her hands—no longer wound tight around his neck, drawing the soft length of her body against the rigid line of his. Instead, her hands had gone slack—and had begun moving, her fingernails a light scrape along his neck, sending goose bumps cascading down his arms, desire a hot streak straight to his cock.

Her fingers reached his cravat and curled around the knot. Reactively, his hand flew up and covered hers.

Him undressing wasn't part of his seduction plan.

Her gaze lifted. Not a hint of surprise shone in those silver-blue depths.

What he saw was defiance.

This woman—for reasons unfathomable to him—was determined to push his every boundary tonight.

Why?

Why couldn't she leave matters be?

Why couldn't the pleasure he would deliver to her body be enough for her?

"I want to see you," she said. "All of you."

She was speaking of his body, yes, but also of what lay deeper—his soul.

Of the two, the body was simpler.

So, he released his grip and let her fingers unknot his cravat. Less than thirty seconds later, white silk was fluttering to the floor and his shirt had fallen open in a V, revealing the light dusting of golden hair across his chest. She didn't hesitate, but pushed the evening coat off his shoulders, nimble fingers moving to the buttons of his waistcoat. Then the garment was off his body and joining the growing heap on the floor. When this woman set a goal, she reached it.

Her gaze drifted down and landed on his feet, where they remained for a full five seconds. "I don't see any help for it."

"Help for what?"

"You'll have to sit."

"Sit?"

"It's the only way to get your boots off."

Before he could offer resistance to her plan, she had them pivoting around and was pushing him onto the bed. A laugh escaped him. He couldn't help himself.

Not one to dawdle once a decision was made, she reached down and grabbed a boot.

"You must understand the removal of my boots is quite unnecessary." It had to be said.

"Oh, it's quite necessary." She planted herself and pulled with all her might.

This woman…There wasn't another like her. What other woman dressed in chemise, stays, stockings, and pearls would insist on pulling off a pair of men's boots. This was the work of a burly valet.

At last, the boot came loose, the release sending her stumbling backward. Without missing a beat, she let the boot thud to the floor as she lifted his other foot.

This woman wouldn't let a pair of boots defeat her.

With a bit more finesse, she had the second boot off in half the time, with half the effort. The woman was a fast learner, which came as no surprise, of course.

She went still and let her gaze rake over him as he remained propped on his elbows…Her eyes skimmed up his thighs…the demanding bulge straining against his trousers, lingering there long enough that a blush crept up her throat…and up further, over his chest to meet his gaze. He was the object of her desire—and he found he rather liked that.

A new truth sank in.

He was no longer in control of this seduction.